Page 5 of North

I chuckle and glide away, glancing toward the stands. I know exactly where she’s sitting—first row, right near the bench. Rafferty had mentioned getting tickets for Tempe, her younger brother Cooper, and Cooper’sfriend Danny, and when Farren showed up out of the blue today, he got her a ticket too. It was a bit of an acting feat to look surprised when he mentioned she was here because I could never tell him the truth that Farren had already texted me.

My eyes sweep the seats, searching. It doesn’t take long to spot her. Farren’s glossy dark hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders and her blue eyes gleam under the bright lights of the arena. She’s stunning, her presence magnetic even from this distance. She’s laughing at something Tempe’s said, the sound almost audible in my mind. Her laughter is something I’ve replayed more times than I should admit.

Farren Abrams.

Rafferty’s little sister.

Correction… my teammate’s little sister.

I grit my teeth as I glide into another lap, my stick dragging the ice idly. We’ve hooked up twice now. The first time was during one of her earlier visits to Pittsburgh—a drunken, spur-of-the-moment mistake after a night out with the team. But the second time… the second time, I knew exactly what I was doing. She texted me, and I didn’t hesitate. No alcohol, no excuses—just her, me, and a connection I can’t seem to shake.

I flick a puck toward the boards, watching it bounce back before I gather it on my stick again.

This thing with Farren?

It’s complicated.

She’s fun, carefree, and absolutely gorgeous, but she’s also fiercely independent. In the time we’ve gotten acquainted, she’s said enough for me to know that she’s allergic to anything resembling commitment. Although the sex is the driving force between us, we’ve spent a lot of time talking and have kept in loose contact via text the last several weeks. I’ve been learning how her mind works and her absolute lack of desire to enter into anything serious is utterly fascinating. She’s a woman content to keep a casual connection and use it only when it feeds her mood. Maybe that’s part of what draws me to her—the challenge, the unpredictability, the fact that she’s completely different from anyone I’ve been with before.

Still, I know I’m playing with fire. She’s Rafferty’s sister, and Raff’s the type of guy who would take a fist to anyone who even thought about crossing a line with her. But Farren is an adult, as am I. She’s the one setting the boundaries, keeping things casual. She’s in no danger of getting hurt and I think that’s what would matter the most to her brother if we were ever found out.

I weave through a cluster of players, my eyes drifting back to the seats. Rafferty picks up a loose puck and skates toward the boards. His focus is on Cooper, the kid’s face lighting up as Raff flicks the biscuit over the glass. Cooper catches it, his grin wide enough to rival the goal light when it flashes. Rafferty smirks, taps the glasswith his stick, and skates away.

My gaze shifts back to Farren. She’s clapping for Cooper, her smile wide and genuine. When she finally glances toward the ice, her eyes meet mine. The connection is instant, like a spark catching dry kindling. She doesn’t look away, her lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. There’s a promise in her eyes, one that sends heat flooding through me.

I swallow hard, my hands tightening on my stick. Damn her. Damn her for being so irresistible and for making this so damn complicated.

I skate past the bench, my pulse hammering in my ears. Maybe it’s best to keep this between us for now. Farren doesn’t want anything serious, and I’m not looking to blow up my friendship with Rafferty. On the other hand, ending it would be the safe bet all the way around.

But as I circle back toward center ice, her gaze lingers on me, and I know this isn’t something I can walk away from—not yet.

For now, I have a game to play before I can even think about unraveling the mystery of Farren Abrams.

♦

This Titans teamis a masterpiece of talent, headlined by the best player in the league, Penn Navarro. But tonight, my second line is on fire and Foster has alreadyscored a goal in the first period.

The play starts deep in our zone, and I’m reading the ice, anticipating the next move. Camden scoops up a loose puck after the Phantoms botch a cycle along the boards. He glances up ice, his eyes darting left before he whips the puck to Atlas, who’s breaking hard down the wing.

I kick into gear, driving up the right side, my skates cutting into the ice with purpose. Atlas takes the puck cleanly over the blue line, barely breaking stride. He dangles past a Phantom defender like the guy’s a practice cone, smooth and controlled. Foster is gliding down the middle, always in the perfect spot to keep the defense guessing.

We’re building something here—I can feel it in my bones. The crowd senses it too, their roar growing with every stride we take. Atlas crosses the red line and dishes the puck to Foster, who draws two defensemen toward him like a magnet. That’s my cue. I pivot hard, cutting toward the net and slipping into the open lane.

Foster doesn’t miss a beat. He feints a shot, selling it so well the goalie shifts, and the defenders commit. Then, with the precision only he has, he threads the puck right to my tape. It’s perfect, right there in my sweet spot.

I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I fire.

The puck flies off my stick, a blur of black slicingthrough the air. The goalie drops into the butterfly, but it’s too late. The puck clanks off the bottom crossbar, it’s trajectory on point before slamming into the back of the net.

The arena erupts in a deafening roar, and a surge of adrenaline explodes through my veins. I let out a shout, pumping my fist hard as my teammates swarm me.

“Hell of a shot!” Atlas slaps me on the back, his grin wide and contagious. Camden skates in, laughing as he smacks his gloves against my helmet. Foster pulls me into a hug, pounding my shoulder pads. The energy is so intense my bones seem to rattle, and I let myself bask in it.

As we skate toward the bench, my gaze flicks up to the stands—an instinct I can’t seem to shake. My eyes find Farren instantly, and just like that, everything else fades into the background. She’s on her feet, clapping and cheering. Her smile is radiant, and even from here, I can feel it—the way she lights up, the way her energy seems to pulse through me like a live wire.

Damn, she’s beautiful.

I quickly snap my head forward, forcing myself to refocus as I reach the bench. The game isn’t over, and there’s no time to let my mind drift. But even as I sit down and take a swig from my water bottle, I can’t help the way my lips curve into a smile.

---